


I'm Glad You Came

by sawbones (orphan_account)



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Gen, M/M, kinkmeme prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-18
Updated: 2012-04-18
Packaged: 2017-11-03 20:53:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/385828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/sawbones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Manuel's new team-mates helped him to settle in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Glad You Came

1.

It was Philipp who found him first. Of course it was; the diminutive captain was as attentive and serious about the welfare of his players at his club as he was on the national team. He was waiting quietly outside of the board room where the meeting with the Ultras' representitive was being held and Manuel was so distracted by his own thoughts that he didn't even notice him until a firm hand on his arm stopped him as he passed. Philipp held his gaze for a while, taking in the dark circles under his eyes and pallor on his usually rosy cheeks. He looked grim.

"I know these men well, Manuel. They're ignorant, stubborn, narrow-minded and downright rude - but they love this club. It means the world to them. It means the world to me. They think they know what's best for the club, and that's all they want--"

His grip tightened for a second but his expression softened.

"But you are what we _need_."

2\. 

Within the week Thomas had invited him round for dinner, and who was Manuel to say no to a free meal? Even before he had joined Bayern Munich he had heard the whisperings of Lisa's infamous cooking and he definitely had to see for himself. The truth would be quite literally in the pudding. Their house was perfect, just like he had imagined it would be - two stories, three bedrooms, airy and open plan with a huge garden for their dogs. Homely and welcoming, and warm as his hosts. Thomas had embraced him before he even had a chance to take his jacket off and Lisa greated him gladly like an old friend, immediately ushering him through to the patio where a table had been set up for them to dine al fresco. It was a mild, balmy evening with barely a breath of wind to stir the dozen or so candles and lanterns dotted around, and the soon-to-be-setting sun made the wisps of clouds grow orange and pink. It was beautiful, and one bouquet of roses away from being a set up for a wedding proposal.

If the food was good, the company was even better. Manuel had always enjoyed being around Thomas. He was loud, funny and a little bit excitable with an insanely infectious laugh, and Lisa was his perfect foil. She was bright, grounded and incredibly sweet, and earnestly asked him dozens of questions where Thomas only made jokes. Between the two of them, double helpings of chocolate-cherry tart and more glasses of wine than he really ought to, he was feeling as relaxed and saited as he had since he moved to Munich. But the night was drawing on, and Lisa had an early flight to Berlin to catch in the morning so she excused herself graciously with a kiss on each cheek for both boys that left the tips of their ears glowing. Without her, Thomas fell into a comfortable - if not uncharacteristic - silence.

"So," he began after a while, swirling the wine round the bottom of his glass thoughtfully, "No lederhosen for you, eh."

Manuel could see his team-mate struggling to keep his toothy grin under control, and felt the corners of his own lips twitch in responce. It was obvious where this was going.

"Maybe it's just as well, I doubt you could fit your arse in a pair after the amount you ate tonight!"

And with that their grins soon cracked up into giggles, escalating until both men were cackling. It wasn't even that funny, but it felt so good to laugh again.

3.

There was only one person in the lounge of the Bayern club-house and it was Arjen, sitting with his legs crossed reading some Dutch newspaper on one of the ridiculously comfortable leather sofas. Manuel saw him, and not wanting to disturb the man turned on his heel with a pardon to leave. Arjen stopped him with a laugh and a salutation.

"Hey Manu," he said genially. He folded his paper and patted the cushions beside him invitingly, "Come take a seat, won't you?"

Manuel hesitated but oblidged. He didn't feel much like chatting, but he had somehow struck up a friendship with Arjen even when they had played against each other that had only grown stronger now they were team-mates. He was very easy to talk to - not like Thomas and Franck and their pointless banter, and less serious than Philipp or Jupp. He listened, and nodded, interjected with crinkled smiles and quips, pearls of wisdom when they were needed, and although he was only twenty-seven there was something about Arjen that was so much older - and not just his receding hairline. He reminded Manuel, in some ways, of his father. The thought made is stomach lurch. He missed his family desperately. He missed his old friends. He missed Gelsenkirchen. He missed Benni, and his old club. He looked over at Arjen who simply nodded understandingly even though had hadn't said anything and squeezed his shoulder.

"Come on, lie down here," he said quietly, and guided Manuel to lay his head on his lap. He felt a little odd, a little vulnerable, but at the same time safe. Arjen looked down at him, his face creased into another smile as he threaded his fingers idly through Manuel's wheat-blonde hair. How many times had he done this as a child? Laid across the lap of his mother, listening to records or watching old movies on their grainy TV set as she petted his hair until one, or both of them, fell asleep. Tears threatened to prick his eyes, part of him wanted so badly to go home, but Arjen's steady hand and serene expression calmed him. 

"You'll be okay, kid," he said, touching the curl of blonde at the nape of Manuel's neck with one hand and his cheek with the other, "You'll do just fine."

4.

The final whistle blew, and Manuel was exhilerated. They had won with an astounding success, 5-0, and the whole team had performed excellently. Manuel himself had even stopped two penalties, one in each half, and he was delighted with himself. The whole team was milling together, embracing, jeering, cheering, congratulating each other in the middle of the pitch. One of those faces, a blur of blond and pink and blue, was pushing his way through the bodies towards him with arms out-stretched - but not to embrace. Bastian's fingers closed round the fabric of his jersey and dragged him sharply forward until his lips crushed against the stiff embroidered circle on his chest. It was a long and lingering kiss and Manuel held him tightly by the waist, looking thrilled and confused and happy all at once. Eventually Bastian pulled away with a flourish and a blinding smile.

"If they won't let you kiss the badge, then I'll goddamned do it for you!"

5.

Manuel was the last one left in the locker room - or so he had thought. He was perched on the edge of the bench that ran across the center of the room with his shirt in his hand, facing his own locker and staring intently at the gilded lettering, the bright high-tec screen, and all the other little thing he'd never had before. He didn't even notice Mario until a pair of hands landed on his shoulders, making him jump. They were warm and wet, fresh from the shower.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you." Manuel could hear the grin in his voice.

"It's okay, I was just thinking."

"Oh? About what?" 

"Just...everything, I guess. It's all been a bit of a blur."

"Yeah, I felt the same way when I came here too," he said slowly, thoughtfully. "For a while, I kind of wondered if I'd done the right thing, but it all felt so...inevitable, you know?"

"That's it exactly." Manuel nodded earnestly. He knew their situations weren't exactly the same, but he was pleased the striker could understand him in some way.

"Are you glad you came?"

"Yes," Manuel said without hesitation, because he was honestly glad he had came. Of course he missed Schalke and yes, sometimes he felt guilty even though he shouldn't, and he knew it would take some time for everyone to come around and settle down completely, but Bayern was what he needed at that point in his life. He had support, he was surrounded by friends and professionals and by the end of the year he would have everything he had ever dreamed of. 

"I'm glad you came," Mario's voice was as soft as his touch, his hands still resting on Manuel's shoulders. He paused for a moment as though waiting for a reaction, and when he didn't get one he continued, a little bolder, "You're tense."

Manuel made a non-commital noise and let his head dip forward to allow easier access. Mario chuckled but took the hint and and began to slowly rub circles with his thumbs across the keeper's shoulder blades. When he had first arrived he found it quite strange, the general physicality of the dark haired man; the touches, the petting, the embraces, kisses on the cheek and the neck and the forehead - it took him a while to get used to, but no-one else seemed to mind. Once he had wondered aloud if it was a Spanish thing, but the general consensus of the others was that it was more of a Mario thing. The striker increased the pressure slightly, letting his finger tips dig into the flesh and Manuel moaned softly. Embarrassed, he shifted a little but Mario continued as though he hadn't heard, working out the tough knots at the based of his neck. He was skilled and attentive as he slowly massaged down Manuel's back, making sure every part of him gradually melted into relaxation before he moved on. His skin was smooth, pale and perfectly unblemished, stretched across a typical keeper's back that was perfectly defined and toned with strong broad shoulders and a neat narrow waist. Finally his fingers came to rest in the curved dip just above the waistband of his shorts, and Manuel sighed contentedly. It had felt wonderful, far better than any of the hard and fast hands of the club's expert physios. He opened his mouth to thank Mario, but he was hushed. It wasn't finished - not yet. His hands slid deftly from the small of his back to his waist and stopped on his stomach - perhaps a little softer than some athletes' rock hard abs but still perfect, still gorgeous. Mario felt the muscles flutter beneath his touch as Manuel, uncertain, stiffened slightly. 

"Let me," he murmured and pressed his face to the juncture of his shoulder and neck, laying a kiss there. The flush in Manuel's cheeks rushed down to meet where his lips had been but the keeper didn't stop him. Slowly Mario pushed his hands under the shorts and brushed his fingers teasingly though the wiry blond hairs he found there. He gripped the base of Manuel's cock which was sluggishly hardening despite the younger man's uncertainty, and began to pump it with steady firm strokes. With his other hand he reached further down to his balls and squeezed them, pulling on them gently and massaging the soft delicate skin which dragged a stuttering moan from Manuel. Mario tongued the shell of his ear and bit the lobe before trailing wet kisses down the sleek line of his neck onto his shoulder, letting his teeth scrape the skin but not daring to leave a mark. He had to be careful, measured, to give his team-mate the welcome he deserved. He couldn't rush, and he couldn't push things too far too fast - although he assumed from the spasms in Manuel's thick thighs that he was going at just the right pace. 

"Mario--" he rasped, but whatever he was going to say got stuck in his throat. His voice was cracked from arousal and instead he groped behind him blindly, his grasping fingers finding the back of Mario's sturdy neck and clinging there, holding him close as he came suddenly, spilling hard over his hand and taking them both by surprise. There was an awkward moment of silence as he pulled his hands from Manuel's shorts and stared at the glistening seed smeared across his fingers, "I'm sorry, I tried to--"

"I was jerking you off, what did you think would happened?" Mario quietened him with calming gesture and a huff of laughter as he wiped the mess onto his towel. Manuel turned to smile sheepeshly over his shoulder, "Besides, it looks like you needed it."

**Author's Note:**

> Each section makes reference to something that has happened:  
> 1\. After general protests from some Bayern Ultras over the signing of Manuel, their representitives met with members of staff to draw up some "terms" for him being at the club.  
> 2\. One of the terms was that Manuel should not wear Lederhosen.  
> 3\. "he had somehow struck up a friendship with Arjen even when they had played against each other" - In a previous Schalke vs Bayern game, Manuel rolled over after making a save and nuzzled at Arjen's thighs/crotch, who proceeded to pet the younger man fondly on the head. I would also like to mention that although I reference his father here, he was infact raised by his mother as his father walked out at a young age (if I recall correctly). I'm claiming artistic liscence!  
> 4\. Another term was that Manuel should not be allowed to kiss the crest of his jersey.  
> 5\. Like Manuel, Mario was a key player for his "home team" (Stuttgart, which was in fact ~90km from his actual hometown) before moving to Bayern Munich.


End file.
